When In New York
by 2DaughtersOfAthena
Summary: A long oneshot about Emma and Hook when he comes to rescue her in New York in "New York City Serenade." Complete. Could be a sequel in the future.


**Just a little story of Emma and Hook in New York, as a side-part to my big story, Pirate Ship. I hope you enjoy.**

 **Bear in mind that I've never been to America, but I do have a passion for fiction. I hope that only the latter shows in this work.**

* * *

The door opened with extreme ease, as Neal had taught her all those years ago. Even though she was breaking in, she could get away with it, having the job that she did. Despite knowing this, Emma Swan poked her head around the corner of the dark green door, paint peeling from years of use - the probability of having been slammed many a time being 'very likely'. There was no cry or angry shout as she entered so she simply shut the door behind her.

It wasn't a particularly large apartment, far smaller than her own, which she shared with Henry. From the minimal furnishings, she guessed that this was where a single person resided. A man. She could tell by the manly stench that emanated from... Well everywhere. A mix of cologne and sweat and a lack of femininity of the place. Another concluding factor was the object resting against the dusted window, marking its place like a shadowed tattoo against the dull, grey sky.

A dream-catcher. And one that she recognized.

Large with brown cotton strung from each side, creating a flower-like pattern in the centre of the dream-catcher. A slight golden tint to the point of meeting of all of the cotton. A teal bead in the string that held it up. It was beautiful and it was horrifying. It felt as though the stab of pain that Neal caused had returned. His name echoed around the premises as she began to look. His name was on the mail and personality was draped throughout the apartment. Suddenly she felt very exposed.

She felt as though he could see her from every inch of the room.

Emma Swan was ready to leave, ready to run and escape and scream all at once, but then her peripheral vision caught sight of something that definitely should not have been there. The name was the first thing that she saw, a bright red, slap bang in the centre of the room. She should have seen it. The banner with her sons name on it should have been the first thing that she noticed.

The camera was decent, but the strap was what she was most interested in. It was woven, a deep red with green and pink added to it, and a large brown section, emblazoned with the name: HENRY.

It was impossible. It was crazy. How could Neal know about him? How could Neal even know she had been pregnant? Why would he care, after all of these years? He was the one had who left her. He was the one who had left her to be imprisoned.

She was angry. Neal would never be allowed to have anything to do with her son, ever. She needed to know, more than anything, what he wanted with her and with Henry. Emma needed to talk to this stranger who had interrupted her date. The stranger who had made her think about what she was doing with a simple statement "you know something isn't right". And the address.

That man saying that he would be in central park, she remembered, waiting. Waiting for her, to return information to Neal. And she would be there to tell him to back off and go to whatever hovel he had risen from.

Central Park was crisp, the air frosted as she breathed, storming her way towards the figure dressed completely in leather, even on the chill day. His long jacket fluttered in the breeze, occasionally making a whipping sound. She rounded the large concrete monument, arms tight to her side, fists remaining closed. Ominous clacking made by the heels of her boots. Obviously, the stranger heard her and turning towards her, a display of relief on his face, the scruff becoming more innocent and that pierced ear looking more out of place than before. Lofty trees were rooted around him, leaves trailing and dancing against the wind, seemingly slowed in the moment. They eventually reached the dew-dampened ground below: their resting place for now.

"Swan," he sighed and then smiled, looking more and more at peace. "I knew that would work. It's good to see you," he said in that deep, sultry voice that captivated Emma so easily. It was dark, as if every sentence was inviting her on a wild adventure - whether that entailed mystical realms or _elsewhere._ Rough, charming and dull of debonair.

Fluttering in her stomach crept up on her, but she stifled it quickly, anger returning as soon as she wanted it to.

"Why didn't you tell me that was Neal's place?" His smile seemed to falter, with some sort of realization befalling him. It didn't last long, a retort slipped through his lips, as if it was obvious all along.

"I think the tone of your voice answers that quite clearly." He said, knowing danger, paused and then tried to clarify, voice turned low and scratchy. "You never would have gone if I had."

Emma thought about it. He was right. She never would have gone near that place, and for good measure she probably would have given the stranger an entirely new radius of avoidance. She might have even moved, knowing that Neal was anywhere near her. It was enough to make her shudder and crawl back into the hateful hole that she survived in while in jail. Her walls were well and completely up. And fire-proof. And definitely Neal-proof.

"What does Neal have you up to? Is he trying to get into Henry's life? How does he even know about Henry?" Her voice was filled with panic and the stranger noticed it immediately. He tried to shut it down, to reassure her that this had nothing to do with Neal. Emma noticed that this man has a habit of spinning crap whenever she asked him questions about serious things. Babbling on about parents and Kingdoms and a curse that has them 'ripped back to Storybrooke'. "Do you know what you sound like?" she asked, incredulously, her eyes glaring at him, confused but ready to fight her corner.

"Like a Madman, I'm sure," he uttered, his voice solemn and quiet. The tone was admitting something sad, like he knew he was guilty of sounding crazy but also believed so strongly in what he has said. As if he knew exactly what her reaction would be. Emma didn't like this new voice, this added darkness as he swallowed to contain some sort of emotion that held him in that moment. "But it's true," he said gruffly, re-positioning his feet. "Your parents need you. Your whole family needs you."

At that moment it was very difficult not to roll her eyes.

"If you don't believe me then why did you come here at all?" he asked, trying to figure her out, finding her weak spots. She would not be so easily read. Her walls were up, protected by her mind and by the thick red coat she wore to fight off the cold, which she barely registered. Even though this stranger was shuddering, his walls completely down and emotions torn at the core, she was warm and safe from any kind of exposure. The coat was a recent purchase, with a tight buttoning and elegance: the coat of a woman who was in control, with a boyfriend and a successful life. It was not the coat of a woman who believed in this kind of crap so easily.

Instead of shuddering from any kind of cold, she was determined as she reached inside her bag for the camera she had swiped from Neal's apartment, brandishing it to the stranger with urgency mixed with irritation. Emma leaned in slightly, letting him see her frustration and confusion.

"Because Neal has a camera with my son's name on it. How?" she demanded, her eyes sparking. She glared at him, her hazel eyes locked onto his bright blue ones, not letting go, not giving any sense of mercy at all. She had no idea who he was but she wanted answers, no matter what. He had kissed her and said 'I hoped you felt as I did'. Talking about some kind of curse. And now he is related to Neal. How could she have thought that she would ever be free of Neal's hold over her?

"Don't you see? That is proof of what I am saying," the man reasoned, tipping his nose down and looking up at her through his long eyelashes, giving an indication that something like this is so blatantly obvious. "Henry must have left that in the apartment when you were in New York last year."

But she wasn't in New York last year. She had been in Boston until her apartment had caught fire and she and Henry moved to the big city. And yet, this man's confidence never even wavered, not once. He was completely adamant about every single part of it. The stranger talked about everything in such detail and had an answer to everything, but it was nowhere near good enough to make her even believe just a tiny bit.

"Not good enough." She was short with him, her voice clipped. "I want answers. Real ones."

Her stranger changed then, swallowing nervously, as if this was some big secret that the whole moment had been building up to. For when she was finally ready to know his big secret that he was about to come out with. He swallowed a couple more times, "There's only one way you'll get those." Why was he so nervous? Emma couldn't help but be so curious about what's coming next. He reached into one of his deep pockets in the leather jacket, the movement making it whip again in the light breeze. "Drink this."

He held out a tiny blue vial, containing a minimal amount of liquid inside.

No way. No way was she drinking anything from any kind of mysterious bottle that crazy guy was handing to her. No bloody way. No thank you, she'd much rather shoot this guy and go back to her life as she was: happy. Alas, that would be a very bad move indeed.

Emma Swan couldn't shake the feeling about this guy, about what he was saying. She had a slither of doubt about herself ever since he appeared and sent a roaring head of confusion into her path. Confusion which plagued her. Even so, she had to keep up an appearance.

"Drink the thing that crazy guy just offered me? No thank you." She was being short to hide her doubt, to show that she was stronger than this.

"It will help you remember everything you've lost." The stranger said it with such ease, as if he has had this practiced for months on end, trying to figure out a way to persuade New York Emma that there was something beyond the big city lights and the large apartment she and her boy had together. That there would always be something for her other than that.

But what if Emma didn't want to remember everything she had lost? If there was some family somewhere who had given her up, did she really want to know the nitty-gritty details and have to come to terms with it all over again? The answer was a definitive no. She didn't want to remember any more hurt than she had already suffered. If what she'd experienced was not loss enough, she did not want to be hurt in knowing everything she had lost. If there was more to be lost, she didn't want it. She didn't want any of it.

Some nights she'd lay awake, thinking, Walsh's hand thrown across her stomach, her mind churning and overturning.

 _Why did they give me up?_

And whoever _they_ were, she had already lost them and been through all of that and everything in between. She had already lost so much and fought so hard against the world she had been tossed into because of them. She had partially forgiven them, through all the hardship she had been through.

Desperate people do desperate things. She knew that: she had the experience to go hand in hand with it. She stole that yellow bug, leading her to Neal. She had been naive enough to fetch Neal's stolen watches just so they could run off to Tallahassee together. Look how that worked out.

"If one part of you senses that, don't you owe it to yourself to find out if I'm right?" That was the question. Did she doubt herself? Only sometimes. Did she really believe in this bollocks? No. Absolutely not. "What do you say, love?" What did she say? She would say no. She had to. There had to be another way to find out whether Neal was planning to get into Henry's life, and a way to see what this camera had to do with either of them. "Take a leap of faith. Give it a go," he said, as if he would so easily convince her. No. She is Emma Swan

Unstoppable.

The stranger saw her eyes go cold, a stoniness about them. He knew, in that moment, that he had lost her. He had lost. He had given everything he had to this woman and her impenetrable walls had meant that she was not available to him - for him to mould into believing him. She didn't trust him and didn't believe him.

"Call me love one more time and you lose the other hand."

He was astonished. If he could just explain, surely Swan would understand? He couldn't lose her, not again. After this year of searching from misery and finding who he was and then finding her. He could not lose her again. But she was handcuffing him to a bench.

"Swan, what are you doing?" he murmured with a dangerous air to his voice, gentle but confused, trapped to the bench for now. He struggled against the metal, grunting in pain as it dug into his skin. Try as he might, he was completely stuck there. His face wrinkled in slight anger and in strain. And he thought that only one of his hands would be lost to the entrapment of metal.

"Making sure that you never both my son and me again."

She saw it instantly. The total loss of hope and charm and the expression that oozed seduction. Suave gone and replaced with a plea. He searched for something in her eyes. Something that was lost a year ago when she and the boy drove that foul yellow bug across the town line. Alas, he saw something else, through the splaying dark hair across his vision. That determined look in her eye: the look that told him that she would never leave that boy for anything - not for an uncertainty. And that was fine. But he also saw a betrayal of loss. He realized then that he was another person who had hurt her. Without meaning to, Killian Jones had hurt her and he had never planned it.

Before he could formulate another argument, Emma Swan whistled to two men dressed in faded blue cotton, wearing black ties, belts and silly hats with hexagons atop them. They also wore stern expressions, making for Killian, their heavy arms swinging at their sides. "This is the guy," she said, her voice cold. "The one who assaulted me."

 _Assaulted?_

"It was a kiss," Killian protested. Emma flung her hands up into the air, smiling harshly at him like he was the worst thing in the world. Honestly, it broke his heart more than the rejection of his kiss and when she left him, driving over the town line, knowing that she would forget. And when she and Neal were close again back in Neverland and Neal promised to fight for her. And then when she chose neither of them.

"There, he confessed." The cops grabbed at his arms, at the handcuffs as Emma Swan was walking away from him. Alas, he was imprisoned in the relentless iron grip of the men she had called upon him. He was being thrown into the brig. Not a first but this was a new world so who knew what it would be like here.

"You're under arrest for assault and harassment, sir," said one of the men, clutching him at his elbow, making sure he could not twist out of his hands. Emma Swan was turning away from him, a shrug playing on her shoulders and on her face. A face he knew he would never forget, even in vexation and in times of love and lust. He would never forget. But she had to remember. He couldn't forget and she was _not_ allowed to get away from him again! Not when she is needed, and not when he needs her - even if he shouldn't.

"Swan, you're making a mistake! A terrible, terrible mistake." Killian's voice was raised now, in desperation. She recognized that tone perfectly, although she did not recognize him. He was exasperated and agitated and was fighting for every ounce of her attention but she wasn't going to give in to him. He began shouting her name, but all in vain. Desperate. Anxious. Hopeless. "Swan!" She still had no idea how he knew her name. "Your family needs you!"

Emma Swan was having none of it.

As she walked across the city, she continued to keep a hold on the strap of the camera in her bag, unconsciously playing with the name displayed on the side. Her gloved hands protected her from becoming dry in the growing wind. She was dressed like a responsible woman. Not one who would even consider drinking that blue vial of potion.

She was austere. She believed what she knew. The world was a ruthless place, not one of fairy-tales.

Even so, she had to find out what exactly was on this camera, so took her stroll towards a drugstore, on her way to collecting Henry from school. It was sometimes a blessing that her job allowed her to have days of freedom and errands that she had to run. Today was one of those days.

It was difficult for Emma to keep her mind off Walsh and his pending question. She felt bad for how she had left him, the query still poised on his lips. She didn't even finish her dessert. Panic had overtaken her entirety. She'd never imagined herself being a wife to someone, to be married and with a big white wedding and in a _dress._ A big, puffy princess gown. No, she'd never thought about it. And even now that she did, she didn't imagine it with Walsh.

Then again, maybe she was too stubborn to think anything other than 'I can't be someone's wife'.

Henry sensed something was up immediately, coercing her into telling him what it was all about. He didn't begin asking questions until they were out of the drugstore, only a short walk from the block of apartments they lived in. Anything like that would be a tricky subject with his mom, but he knew how to broach it with her as gently as possible.

They rounded the corner to the street upon which they lived and Henry knew that it was now or never. He'd noticed a silence from his mom that only ever came from when she was thinking hard about something. Something important. It had to be Walsh - he presented a great change that could affect them both. Massively.

"You wanna talk to me about Walsh, don't you?" he asked, staring at the candy bar in front of him, echoes of car horns in his ears.

"Why would you say that?" she asked, flummoxed. Motherly, as she was, but also his best friend. She rested her hand on his shoulder, only a head taller than him now.

"You bought me candy at the drugstore." He said it so matter-of-factly that she couldn't fault his perceptive skills. He was growing up so fast, but she was his mother goddammit and she would always look after him. Then again, she had to tell him at least one of the things that had been going through her mind, and that definitely included Walsh and her life with or without him. Henry was involved in the decision too.

"Okay," she admitted, sighing slightly to herself, her hand slacking away from his shoulder slightly as she thought over what to say and how to be the most accurate she could be. Without talking about the stranger who spoke of curses and kingdoms and all that crap. "Maybe you're right," she began. "I have been thinking about him." She paused, not knowing whether the time to mention Neal was then. Or whether to mention that they were mere blocks away from where he was. That was a crazy thought in itself. She couldn't bring herself to tell her son something that may cause both hope and devastation. "Maybe what happened in the past, with your birth father, has kept me from living my life now." She explained it in the most measured way she could, without giving away any details about Neal and his close proximity. Or admitting that she had a run-in with her past today, one way or another.

"Maybe it's time for me to start looking forward. That _we_ start looking forward..?" she amended, more as a question than as a statement. After all, Walsh was to be part of Henry's life too and she could never make that kind of decision on her own.

"So... Does that mean you're gonna marry him?" Emma huffed out a breath and smiled. He got her. She smiled fully then, showing teeth and gradual lines on the sides of her face. Signals of happiness and Henry took that to be positive. "So, that's a yes," he said, grinning happily. "How are you gonna tell him?"

Emma was shocked at first, and had to fight for what she said next, but could hardly get a sentence in.

"Wait, wait, first I didn't say that -"

"You gonna tell him at dinner tonight." Emma was intrigued. They hadn't planned to have dinner. She told her son this, hoping that he was just wrong and that she didn't also have to deal with Walsh's question as well as everything else that seemed to be cropping up at the moment. Obviously, she didn't have much choice. "I might have sent him a text from your phone this morning." Henry looked apologetic but it amused Emma. Her son really was audacious. "He's coming over at 8 and I arranged to sleep over at Avery's so the two of you could be alone."

He had thought of everything. Emma couldn't wiggle her way out of this one. She would have to answer the poor man on the other end of that question. She was still unsure of what to do.

The pair reached the green wrought iron gate, separating the world from their block of apartments. Henry turned to her, her hand completely slipped from his shoulder now, hanging uselessly at her side. Henry noticed that she was not smiling the way she had been minutes ago. Emma had adopted a sad smile. "It's okay, mom. If your gut's telling you to marry him, trust him." Emma closed her eyes briefly, her hand finding Henry again. She breathed a silent sigh then opened her eyes, ready for the real world again.

"Crap, I forgot to pick something up." That was a lie. "Here, take this." She took an envelope from the plastic bag from the drugstore and handed the bag to him, keeping the envelope to herself. It held the developed photos inside, whatever they were, whatever they showed. "Go see if you can beat level 24. I'll meet you up there," she called as he opened the gate, turning to run inside the building. "See ya!"

"See ya!" He shouted back as the gate shut behind him.

As soon as Henry was gone, she broke into the envelope pulling out the shiny new photos. There was nothing that could explain what was on them. She was not about to believe in the stranger's story, but she had to at least speak to him. The photos portrayed images of her and her son, in places they had not been. All dating to last year, which the stranger spoke about. But that had never happened.

At least, that's what she remembered.

Once again, she found herself walking to a destination to meet a man she did not know, angry and confused. There was no one else she could query about this though, this place, Storybrooke. The one which appeared in the photos. For some reason, she felt as though she would not be able to talk to anyone else about this, otherwise her sanity may be in question.

The stranger opened the station door with his back, fixing his hand back onto the stump and relief in clear abundance on his features. Emma Swan was not going to let him have this moment and called to him, "Hey, we need to talk." Her stern voice pulled him from his reverie as he swanned down the steps to her.

"Miss Swan," he breathes gratefully, turning back to resentfully glare at the building. "I knew you wouldn't let me rot in that cage. I've been in my fair share of brigs but none as barbaric as that." He pointed at the station for emphasis, showing his disgust. "They force-fed me something called baloney." If Emma was in a better mood she might have smiled or even laughed, but she wasn't. Much to Killian's misfortune.

"What the hell are these?" she demanded, indicating to the photos in her hand, showing them to the stranger, irritable. She began listing the things that she didn't understand, to this stranger, which was the cause of her anxiety. Her frustration. "We never lived in a town called Storybrooke. We never took a flight from Boston to New York. We never did _any_ of this." Her fast words befuddled the stranger at first but his tone is calm, eyes gentle and so goddamn blue…

"So you believe me then?" he asked, being as careful as he can be in a delicate situation.

That was the question of the day, it seemed. These photos were solid evidence. Emma Swan could not refute such a thing, being who she was. But none of it ever happened so how were the photos even there. There was one alternative to the photos being truthful, though.

"I don't know," she responded, agitated but trying to control herself a little. "You could have photo-shopped these pictures." She was trying to explain, half to herself, why these photos showed things that had never happened.

"Photoshop?" the stranger asked, utterly perplexed. How could he not know? Emma knew that photo-shop wasn't a common thing to have, given its expense, but everyone knew about it. This was New York for Chrissake. He might be from elsewhere, but she was sure that they had photo-shop in whatever region he was from. She glanced at his leather threads, pierced ear and clueless character. He was almost pirate-like, somehow like the swashbuckling Captain Sparrow she had seen in the movies.

She disregarded the thought immediately. How ridiculous that would be.

"Faked," she said, closing her eyes briefly, trying to allow her mind to be clear and to understand how all of this fitted together. In a nonsensical way, that's for sure.

Killian gestured to the photos, hoped that this would elucidate the matter. "If you think these are forgeries, then why did you spring me from the brig?" He paused, as if waiting for her sign that she was wrong and really hoping that Emma would not sent him back into the hellish cage. There should only be one reason why she rescued him and that thought fed his trust and belief in her. The next part was pushing for the full monty of truth. Getting her to drink the potion would be the hardest part of all. "As much as you deny it, deep down you know something's wrong, deep down you know I'm right."

The stranger sounded almost full of himself, but in a way that stemmed from complete belief. His eyes had a sad tinge to them, pleading for her to remember and to be this woman that she was just _not_.

None of it made sense.

"It's not possible. How could I forget _all_ of this?" Emma heard the panic seep into her voice and tried to control it. There was no way. It wasn't possible. This stranger had to be crazy. So why did she rescue him? Was there some inkling of belief? Some doubt in her mind?

"I promise, you there's an explanation," he said, unperturbed by her panic.

"Not one that makes sense."

Killian half smiled at her continuing defiance. Emma Swan was always stubborn and intelligent, and by Gods she was beautiful. He had to remain serious for her to really believe in him. He couldn't smile at the way her mind worked, how each cog turned and formed new responses and new questions and how each one sprang new ideas into action. Instead of full-out grinning at her, he reached into his pocket again, finding the cool vial lying sideways, and presented it to her. He saw the precipitous flash of recognition on her face and found himself smiling slightly again.

"If you drink this, it will."

The big offering was done. She now knew what had to be done. Killian didn't think he could do it again, be shot down only to be reconsidered. This had to be the last time. He had lost so much in the months coming to find her. If only she could see that, and know that. But she didn't, and instead struggled with the idea, her face turned away from him momentarily, scrunched up in thought.

"If..." She began and he filled with joy, but quickly stowed it somewhere deep down. He couldn't be happy yet. "If what you're saying is true, then I have to give up my life here..."

"It's all based on lies," he reasoned.

"It's real," she argued, desperately wanting to find a reason to stop her internal questions of 'what is real'. "And it's pretty good. I have Henry, a job, a guy I love." Her mind only flickered to Walsh for a second. The pain of the question quickly came back and she tried to stop it from bringing the overflowing of her emotions. She needed to be strong here, whatever was going to happen next.

"Perhaps there's a man that you love in the life you lost." His voice wobbled slightly, rough and low. Hopeful but trying not to be.

Killian knew he should not have said that. He knew that she didn't love him; the kiss hadn't worked. Emma sensed something familiar about his words, the sliver of pain that echoed through them, as if his heart was on full display. Could he be talking about himself? Is that why he had kissed her? "Regardless." He regained his composure. "If you want to find the truth, drink up. Do you really want to live a life of lies?" The stranger looked up at her through long eyelashes, his gaze languid. "You know this isn't right. Trust your gut, Swan. It will tell you what to do."

"Henry always says that."

"Then if you won't listen to me, then listen to your boy."

Emma was in a rut. She couldn't figure him out. She looks at him, at his bright blue eyes, and at the hair that strayed from his head, and at the earnest look on his face. There was nothing about him that screamed anything other than 'just please believe me'. If anything, she felt like the stranger. This man made her think that she was the one who was lost and alone and that he had nothing to lose and was coming for her, to save her. To bring her home.

She glanced at the blue vial. It didn't look evil or vicious or anything like poison might. She had to take her leap of faith. It surely wouldn't hurt her if she tried.

There was a sigh of relief from her stranger as she picked up the vial in her gloved fingers, stashing her papers under her armpit. She popped the tiny cork and downed the contents.

And then the memories hit, like a wall: a storm of one thing after another. Regina, Henry, Snow, Charming, the dragon, Emma killing the dragon, the clock, time moving, time stopping and magic. Magic, lacing every part of these memories she had forgotten and Regina had taken away for her safety and for her sanity in this new version of her life. Regina had blessed her with new ones. Finally, when the memories stop and she was dizzy with two lives stuck in her head, she noticed him.

Hook.

Hook was in front of her and he was worried and he was _there_. He came for her. He came for her, sailing across realms to reach her, his smile fading with every passing day that he did not find her and his darkened eyes glowing less every time there was a dead end. She had missed him. His perked, rosy cheeks. His cheeky and devious grin. His jaw and the expanding stubble, turning to a beard. His dark eyes that barely betrayed an inch of who he really was inside. His frown lines, the only thing that told her that he had feelings when he was being particularly unrelenting. The long leather jacket that should be intimidating but she found it intriguing and contrasting to his character at times.

She saw the weary pirate in front of her, his fear growing and leaking out of him as she took more and more time to just absorb his presence.

She didn't know that he had lost his precious ship to find her. Emma Swan did not realize how much she meant to that weary pirate.

"Hook," she clarified, mostly for herself than for the pirate. He knew who he was.

The grin that crept onto his face was one of the most wonderful things she had ever seen, especially in relation to him. The joy spread right to his eyes, his stance and to his lasting demeanour. His disposition changed.

"Did you miss me?" he asked brazen-faced.

She remembered one last thing as they held this moment together. The kiss they had shared - _kisses_ , she should say. The way he had believed in true love's kiss and how it was with her. That Hook loved her. The fact that _Hook_ was there; he had come for her and he had rescued her and others failed. Neal had failed, despite loving her as Hook did. This meant a horrible decision for her and for Henry as she wondered what to do: should she go home?

Hook made everything exponentially complicated.

* * *

 **Ay ay ay... Well that took all of my efforts. I googled new words and tried to sound as sophisticated and exciting... Let me know what you all think. I know it's long but I needed it to be. I needed to squeeze every ounce of extra creativity that's flowing at the moment. Christmas is coming and I am so completely overwhelmed by the amount of work so obviously had to sit down and write something.**

 **Time management is surprisingly one of my strong points.**

 **Sometimes.**

 **Read and review! Let me know if you want more! (I will probably write some anyway...)**


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